Chapter Twenty-Two
I suppose that most of The Palomino's acrobatic repertoire should really have been counted in the exhibition class, though she never seemed to think there was anything special about her performances. When we put her on the exhibition stage, she was just as cheerful and willing as ever. I remember one evening we 'sold' her to the audience for $10 a spend. The first volunteer came up onto the stage and lay down on his back: then the Negroes supported her in that incredible horizontal 'splits' of hers, so that her cunt was a couple of feet above the man's face; and she steadied herself with one hand on a rope hanging from above. We gave the man a parrot's feather, and told him to get to work: he had a pleasant and intimate view of his target, while the others feasted their eyes on the spectacle of the lovely naked body writhing in lust, with the honey-coloured mane rippling and glinting in the light as she tossed her head in ecstasy, and her free hand teasing herself on the nipples. Her position left her quite defenseless against the maddening feather as it brushed slowly along the lips of her pretty cunt, now titillating the rigid little clitoris, now poking inquisitively into the warm wet hole of her vagina, till finally our pretty Palomino stiffened into orgasm with a strangled cry, her head flung back as she jerked rhythmically on the Negroes' supporting hands: and the man below gasped with pleasure as the juices of her spend leaked from her twitching cunt to fall in warm droplets onto his face beneath. Then I tapped him on the shoulder, and he hastened back to his partner and fucked her till she squealed, while the next volunteer came up onstage to get his $10 worth of cunt-tickling with the parrot's feather.
Everybody seemed to want to get into the act that evening, and The Palomino had five orgasms before her strength gave out. Of course we added it to our repertoire of exhibitions, but in future we limited The Palomino's orgasms to three. which meant we had to draw lots for her, for she was so popular that nearly every male in the audience would gladly have paid $10 for the privilege of tickling her cunt till she came.
Sometimes our exhibitions were unplanned! There was one evening when we had about ten couples in the salon: we'd just seen one of the latest blue films our opposite numbers in Houston had sent up, when suddenly a fight broke out between Elsa, our quick-tempered redhead, and another girl. The first I knew of it, both girls had rolled off the couch and were scrambling about on the floor: I went to stop them. but the audience wouldn't let me. "No. let's see the fun!," they all chorused.
Elsa had more weight than her opponent, but the other girl was very wiry. as Elsa soon discovered. She had pushed a knee into Elsa's stomach and managed to heave her off, and had now rolled over on top of her and was clawing at her hair and banging her head on the floor. Dammit!. what was her name, Max!. I simply can't remember: but I haven't forgotten how very sexy she looked with her buttocks all tensed into tight, hollowed globes, and her breasts bobbing to and fro as she pounded away at Elsa, lying half-helpless underneath her.
Then Elsa got her hands free, and started landing some heavy punches on the other girl's breasts, which doubled her up with pain, and drew some approving claps from the men. who had formed a circle round the pair by now, and were thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of two naked girls fighting. as their rampant pricks showed only too plainly. Somehow, Elsa's opponent managed to get behind her: and suddenly the tables were turned, as the girl caught hold of Elsa's hair with one hand and pulled her head back, then smacked her across the face open-handed with the other hand, landing several heavy roundhouse blows till the tears gushed from Elsa's eyes.
Elsa gave a desperate twist that threw the other girl off balance: and now both girls lay panting on the floor, their grip on each other momentarily broken. The redhead was up on her feet before the other girl had recovered: wild with fury, she lashed out at her opponent with her bare feet, while the other girl lay protecting her face with her hands. Elsa concentrated her kicks on the girl's breasts and belly: and as her legs squirmed in pain, we could see her cunt was all moist with the primitive excitement of a woman battling with her rival. (for it turned out that the fight had started because the girl's partner was so drunk that she knew he would be useless to her that evening, and she had begun making sheep's eyes at Elsa's partner, hoping that he would invite her to join them for a threesome. and Elsa had objected).
Suddenly, with a deft movement, she trapped Elsa's foot, and threw her to the ground with a crash: then she pounced on the shaken redhead, plumped herself down on her panting stomach, and started twisting her naked breasts viciously. Elsa screamed with pain, and threw her arms forward instinctively: her clutching fingers made contact with the other girl's dark luxurious bush, and she tugged violently at it, so that the girl's yell of agony resounded through the room. Half-crazed with pain, she flung one arm out haphazardly; and now Fortune favoured her. for by a lucky chance, her flying hand caught Elsa across the throat in a classic. but quite unintentional. judo chop of a crippling nature. The unfortunate redhead's resistance collapsed at once: the accidental blow had cut off her breathing almost completely, so that she lay helpless, coughing and fighting for breath. Her opponent kicked her viciously in the unprotected cunt, then bent down and slapped her smartly across the face a couple of times: then she beckoned across the room to Elsa's erstwhile partner. and I must say no red-blooded man could have resisted her, all flushed with battle and panting from her exertions, with her pretty breasts rising and falling in most enticing fashion.
He came over willingly enough. he had more than an idea of what was expected of him. and the girl made him help her turn Elsa over onto her back and straighten out her helpless panting body: then she sat down squarely on the redhead's firm breasts and lay back along her body, resting her head in the V of the auburn-bushed crotch. Then she opened her legs to him. and he took her deeply and thoroughly, as she lay there stretched out on Elsa, using the body of her vanquished enemy contemptuously as her cushion while she was being soundly fucked by Elsa's partner.
I tried to add the scene to our repertoire of exhibitions: but somehow the fight never looked convincing when it was faked. as of course it must be between two girls who had no quarrel. I even tried staging it with Elsa and the same girl. but they had become good friends: the girl had apologized to Elsa for trying to take her man. (and for succeeding, too!!), and Elsa had apologized for being so bad-tempered: and the upshot was that once again the thing looked unconvincing. But I'll tell you one thing, Max! If you ever get a real no-holds-barred fight going between a couple of good-looking naked girls. set your movie camera up at once and get the thing down on film, for God's sake! It'll be worth its weight in gold.
And here's another thing that's very well worth watching. and that's a big buck Negro fucking a slim young blonde in time with the beat of Ravel's 'Bolero'. Now I know you've mentioned this particular little bit of entertainment already, Max, in one of your earlier Case Book items. it was in your piece on Britt's initiation, as I recall: you'd just described how she'd been 'sandwiched' to the tune of 'The Swedish Rhapsody', and had gone on to talk about the use of music in general, in exhibitions. and you happened to mention in passing that Hank and Aline had done the 'Bolero' act on our stage here at the Club. But I think you have to admit that it was I who suggested the idea to you in the first place, so I hope you'll let me take the credit for it, from the old Boston days. To tell the truth, it didn't actually originate in my house, I'm ashamed to say. I saw it first in one of the Houston films. and very beautifully they'd done it, too.
Both of the actors were clothed at the beginning. or at least half-clothed the girl was wearing a lot of diaphanous chiffon drapes in soft pastel shades, while the Negro had a loincloth made of glittering gold lame. very chi-chi!
The music started. that soft muted tapping on the drum. Dig! digetty-dig! digetty-dig-dig-dig!. and then the first wind instrument gave out the theme, and he began to take the chiffon veils off that lovely young blonde, who was standing there motionless, as if she'd been hypnotized: and then she was naked, and he spread her legs wide, and she just stood there with her head flung back and her young breasts up in the air: and as more instruments came in, and the music began to get louder and more insistent, he started playing with her cunt and her nipples, so that she began to writhe with lust. Then he threw his loincloth off, and circled her body, striking her loins and her buttocks and her golden bush with his stiff black rod: and then he stooped and slid the big throbbing cock into her waiting quim and clasped his hands under her firm buttocks and lifted her, and so paraded her round the stage in time with the beat of the Bolero.
And as the music got louder and louder, he went down onto his knees with the naked blonde still on his prick, and her blue eyes were staring dreamily; her legs went round him as he laid her down, and more and more instruments kept coming in. And then he was fucking her with short stylized little strokes, always in time with the music and her mouth was open now and she was panting and making her hips rise up to meet his prick-thrusts as he fucked her.
And right at the end, where the music explodes. so did he; and the blonde had been coming nonstop for some time already and when she felt the great flood of hot spunk pouring into her cunt she just turned her eyes up and passed out in ecstasy. and it was quite wildly sensual and exciting to see her lying there, completely fucked-out, under the powerful muscular black body that had just finished spending into her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Well, I suppose it's time to tell you how Don Marco ruined me. not that I think he meant to, mark you: he was just using me for his own purposes; and then he went and died very suddenly, leaving me right out on a limb with no hope of getting back. and here I am today, as a result.
It's a complicated story, Max, and not entirely easy to tell. I think I'd better do it in layers. first, what happened, the way I saw it: then the true explanation of what Don Marco was trying to do: and finally, what happened after his death.
It all started one day in June, when Don Marco sent for me. He told me The Organization were holding a conference in Boston over the whole of the following week: and that as the 'baron' for New England, he had a lot of entertaining to arrange. After a bit of discussion, he instructed me to close the house to our normal clientele for the whole week, and concentrate on looking after the delegates to the conference. Two days later he was back again: this time, he said that two very old friends had asked for something special. (and I remember to this day, Max, how he smiled at me when he said. "Down in Algolagnia Alley!"). He was arranging for two girls to be brought in from one of his other houses. Alberto the steward would look after all the details. I was to reserve the big whipping-room in the basement for six o'clock on the Monday evening. (when the girls would arrive): then I was to greet his guests around half-past six, take them downstairs, and run the programme for them. they weren't flagellation experts, and wouldn't know what to do; and in any case we didn't want the thing to get out of control, did we, with the girls perhaps getting seriously damaged? Then he went through the details of the programme with me.
I had the room all ready well before six o'clock on Monday evening. Alberto was up at the back entrance with Sam and one of the others: they were going to bring the girls straight down on the elevator and into the room, to be prepared. Shortly after the hour, I heard the elevator's telltale whine, and went out to greet the newcomers. To my surprise, no girls were visible. Alberto and the two Negroes were crowded to one side of the elevator, most of the floor space being taken up by two janitor's dollies, each carrying one of those large cylindrical plywood drums that are used in big offices to collect the waste paper at the end of the day: the only difference was that the two drums I was looking at had lids, held on by a bar across the top which was secured by a padlock. Obviously, Don Marco didn't wish the girls to see, or be seen, while they were being moved in!
The dollies were trundled into the whipping-room, and Alberto produced a key and unlocked the lids. I had a distinct shock when the interior of the first drum was revealed. Even though Don Marco had told me about the girls' costumes, I was unprepared for the bizarre spectacle that greeted my eyes as the two big Negroes lifted the first girl from her drum. She was clad from head to foot in a skin-tight body-stocking of dark crimson material. very thin, and pliable, so that every curve of her , body was closely moulded. The material looked like brushed suede, but was obviously some kind of stretch-elastic: and long seams up the back of both legs and down the right side of the body betrayed the presence of cunningly-fitted zippers.
The first thing one noticed, of course, was the Seabrook helmet. again in a dark crimson suedy-looking finish, though it was almost certainly covering some rigid plastic base. I know you know what a Seabrook helmet is, Max: but it may be new to some of your readers. so perhaps I'd better describe it? It's named after William Seabrook, the writer and explorer. (whom I actually knew personally: and was he ever a weirdo! He invented the helmet, and used it on several of his girls when he was doing his researches into Mysticism. but that's another story. ). The helmet covers the wearer's head completely: it fits as closely as possible, and buckles up round the throat. there's a sort of side vent that can be stretched open when the helmet's being put on. The front of the thing has no features on it. just a ridge over the nose, and two leather discs to form 'pretend' eyes, making it look like a 'modern-arty' mask. And there are no openings in it, except for a hole underneath the nose-ridge, to allow the wearer to breathe. So. the girl is blind. there are no eye-holes: she is deaf. there are no ear-holes, and rubber plugs in her own ears mean that she can obtain no audible warning of her master's coming actions. (everything is experienced by touch alone, and comes always as an unprepared surprise): and finally she is dumb. or at least comparatively so. for the mask fits closely under her chin, so that she cannot open her mouth: and her mumbled 'Mmm. mm. mm!' can escape only through the nose-hole, higher up.
Oh yes, the Seabrook helmet's an ingenious device: and as Don Marco had described, this particular type carried a stout eyelet on the top, for bondage purposes.
The next feature to catch the eye was the fact that the girl had no arms. at least, that's what it looked like at first glance! Her arms had been drawn behind her back and taped together with strong sticking-plaster, right wrist to left elbow and vice versa: and her costume had a horizontal pocket of material let into it across the back, so that her two forearms fitted snugly into their own special compartment, and the skin-tight effect was maintained all down the back.
Next I noticed the special boots, again in dark crimson suede. These were laced halfway up the calves, and were definitely 'fetichist', with their six-inch stiletto heels that threw the muscles of the calf into pleasing prominence. Each ankle was encircled by a band of shining steel, closed by a little padlock and carrying a ring to which a cord might be attached.
I have left the most spectacular feature of the costume to the last; this was the one that would appeal immediately to the customer, but meant fit-tie to those of us in the business, to whom the display of naked female flesh spelled 'livelihood', not 'entertainment'. At breasts and buttocks, the costume was completely cut away so that the naked flesh protruded, its pinky whiteness showing up in startling contrast with the crimson of the skin-tight body-stocking. The elasticity of the material dictated that some firm edge be provided, so that the costume would retain its shape around the cut-out portions. In front, two simple circlets of stiff wire sufficed to form convenient openings through which the naked breasts stood firm and proud: and to show Don Marco's attention to detail, the fuller breasts of the second girl had been duly allowed for. her circlets were slightly larger than those on the costume of her companion.
At the back, the arrangement was of necessity somewhat different. The girls were of course destined to be fucked and buggered: thus the whole of the crotch area must be bare. In fact, the only 'solid' portions of the costume, where the material ran uninterrupted by cut-outs, were those strips going up the front and the outside of the thighs, crossing the groin on either side of the bush, and joining the stomach panel: while at the back, the free edge ran up the side of the buttock, behind the hip-bone, and so into the back panel of the costume.
The problem of how to stop the long free edge of the stretch-elastic from creeping. (and it was a long edge, running right and left from the top of the girl's crack, round each buttock, down into the crotch and across the top of each inner thigh, and so out in front and up to join on top of the bush). was further complicated by the need for elasticity. each girl would have to bend down to be buggered: thus a stiff wire could not be used. Don Marco had solved the problem neatly, using flexible wire: a small ring was positioned in the crotch, at the 'blind spot' between cunt and arsehole, to act as anchor: from this one wire ran back to surround the protruding buttocks, with a second wire going out in front to draw the elastic material together round the girl's private parts.
Finally, as a nice little piece of 'cock-teasing', a detachable panel had been fitted to cover the front cut-out at the crotch. This panel was attached by a strip of Velcro tape, so that it could be pressed on or peeled off at will. With it, the girl's front presented the sexless appearance of a ballet dancer: without it, the naked cunt made her look eminently fuckable.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Both girls had been removed from their containers now: and while the Negroes wheeled the drums out of the room and into one of the store-rooms, I took the opportunity of inspecting the evening's victims at close quarters. One of the girls was tall, with a fine full figure. big firm breasts and an attractive pair of plump smooth white buttocks: I felt instinctively that she would turn out to be a blonde. She was standing quite still where the Negroes had placed her, apparently content to await her fate without protesting. (which common-sense clearly ruled out as pointless, anyway). The other girl was smaller, being of average height, with a slim figure: she had trim, firm buttocks, with a delightful little hollow at each side when she tensed her muscles, and small firm breasts that tip-tilted slightly upwards. From the creamy tint of her skin, she was obviously a brunette: arid I saw her as one of those slim, 'nervous-energy' girls whose muscles go absolutely rigid when they spend. She was wandering round blindly in little circles, taking small mincing steps on her six-inch heels: occasionally she would brush up against her companion, and the contact would make her shy violently away, so that once she stumbled and almost fell: then Alberto reached out and took her by one nipple, and after one wild startled plunge she froze into immobility.
Sam and his mate were soon back: and Alberto set them to work getting the girls into position for their flagellation. They started with big Blondie, moving her over with little pats and nudges until she was correctly positioned. Then Sam's assistant knelt at her feet, a little chain-and-swivel device in his hand; there were two clicks. and Blondie's left ankle was attached firmly to a ring-bolt in the floor. Sam's arms went round her shoulders, and he threw her off balance, jerking her body to the left, so that her right foot left the floor. In a flash, his mate had seized her by the ankle and drawn her leg over to the right, so that she was standing in a wide straddle: again the two clicks. and now she was immobilized in this widely-parted stance. All that remained to do was soon done. Sam let down a wire from the ceiling, his assistant hooked it into the eyelet on the top of Blondie's helmet, then Sam wound the wire in again until the pull of the helmet round her neck and jaws had her at full stretch, without possibility of any movement other than a shudder or a quiver. Then it was Brownie's turn: and soon she was standing wide-spread like her companion, with her neck stretched at full length by the pull of the helmet. Alberto walked forward to the motionless bodies in their bizarre crimson costumes. "Don Marco said I could screw them when his friends have finished. ," he told me conversationally: as he spoke, he was idly fingering Blondie's nipples until they stood out like little thimbles on the big firm breasts.
I suppose I should have known something was wrong, Max! Neither girl had had a kid. their nipples showed that very plainly: and surely out of two hookers from a house, at least one would be an unmarried mother, wouldn't you say? And then those crimson costumes. if I'd only thought, I would have realized that there wasn't a house in the neighbourhood that went in for such recherche stuff. dammit, who should know better than I, who ran the top-class, most expensive house in Boston? But because it was Don Marco, I just accepted what he'd told me, without thinking: and even if I had decided there was something wrong. well, what could I have done about it?
Then Alberto and the Negroes left, their tasks completed: I spent a few more minutes there, putting the equipment ready on the shipping-tables close to the two motionless bodies: then I went upstairs to greet Don Marco's guests.
They were an ill-favoured pair, I thought. The big one with the sandy hair and the pale blue eyes announced himself as Joe Morelli, while the other. smaller, and dark, with a fearful squint. was Tony Romano. They were not in the least bashful. "Don Marco says ya gotta coupla broads for us to bash". Morelli was making a statement, not asking a question. "And ya gotta show us what can do. we don't wanna kill 'em, see?". was Romano's contribution. "Follow me, please, gentlemen!," was all I said: and I led the way downstairs.
They were beside themselves with glee when they saw the two bodies prepared for their pleasure, and readily removed their clothing at my suggestion. Romano, who was in his early forties, was slim and well-preserved: and his long thin circumcised rod was standing proud and stiff already. Morelli, a bit older, had gone slightly flabby, with a bit of a pot-belly: but his big red cock looked well able to give a good account of itself. I told them we would start by turning the girls' arses the same colour as their costumes. an idea which pleased the two hoods immensely. I asked Morelli to take the big girl: he nodded his assent, then asked me.
"Hey, Sister, how do we get to fuck these broads?" They were delighted when I showed them the peelable panels at the crotch, and amused themselves for a few minutes fingering the open cunts, till both girls were shivering with sensation. Then they picked up the light smacking-straps lying ready on their tables, and set to work reddening the naked flesh protruding through the rear of the crimson costumes.
I had told them they could hit full strength in safety with these relatively light-weight straps: and they were taking me at my word. Soon both pretty arses were writhing in torment under the ceaseless rain of stinging slaps, and the individual red marks made by the tongue of the strap merged slowly into a uniform coloration of the surface. After fifty strokes, I called a halt. "Gentlemen," I said, "the surface of the flesh is now extremely sensitive from your strapping. The girls are now ready to get full benefit from a serious nettle-birching. Will you please put on your rubber gloves?"
Both scarlet arses were soon shuddering and jerking under the dreadful itching caused by the fresh green nettles' fiery bite. Neither of the men had ever used nettles before: and they were reluctant to believe that they were having any effect. till I invited them both to tap themselves once, lightly, just above the knee. Each of them cried out in discomfort as the little crop of white papules sprang up and turned red. Then "Jesus Christ!," growled Morelli, and started flogging Blondie's swollen globes with renewed vigour: and Romano was not slow to follow suit on Brownie's madly-dancing arse.
Before long the two birches had been reduced to handfuls of leafless stalks: and I invited the lust-crazed pair to exchange them for the little scourges of thin knotted cords. Soon the air was filled with the sharp 'Phwtt! Phwtt! Phwtt!' of the scourges, as each man sent his six little thongs, each carrying six hard knots, flashing down in regular cadence onto the naked flesh of the martyred arses. I had trouble here with Morelli, who insisted on whipping his unfortunate girl full-strength: but when Romano realized that he himself would get Blondie for the second half of the performance, he came to my assistance, and prevailed upon his partner to lay his scourge aside.
By now, both arses were in sorry shape, and if they had been my girls I would have ruled that part of the punishment at an end. But Morelli. and indeed Romano too. had seen the thin canes on the whipping-tables, and was insistent that he be allowed to cane his girl. I agreed, reluctantly: but four strokes were enough to convince the pair of them that for the average person flagellation is only sexy up to a certain point. Both girls' buttocks were so tender and swollen from the strapping and the nettles, and especially the scourging with the thin knotted cords, that each stroke produced a great purplish weal that oozed blood sluggishly, so that it looked like a raw wound rather than the mark of a cane: and neither man seemed disposed to argue when I said firmly. "Well done, gentlemen! That's a beautiful pair of well-whipped bottoms, and I know you'll want to bugger them without delay.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Both girls slumped wearily when I slackened the wires and unhooked them from the helmets. They had been 'standing tall' for over half an hour, with their necks stretched painfully upwards: and since they were already on six-inch stilt heels, there was no relief to be obtained by rising onto their toes. In this position their naked arses had been most severely punished, till each girl was weak from the pain: nor could they give vent to their feelings in a full-throated scream of agony that might serve to release a little of their emotional tension. the Seabrook helmet saw to that; all they could do was mumble "Mmm. mm!" through clenched teeth. and even that was filtered down to a gentle humming through the nose-hole. So it was hardly surprising that even the minor relief of being allowed to 'stand easy' was more than welcome to the two victims.
Their respite was of short duration. When I had unhooked the wires, I explained the next step to the two hoods: and by the time I had fetched the chain-and-swivel fasteners from the cupboard, they had forced Brownie down onto her knees and bent her torso forward and down till her head touched the floor: and there I immobilized her by clipping her helmet-eyelet to a ring-bolt in the floor, so that she must kneel helplessly, pinned at head and ankles, arms completely useless, with her naked crimson arse sticking up all wide-spread, and the four horrid stripes across her buttocks oozing where her bent posture had caused little breaks in the swollen skin. A minute later, Blondie had joined her on the floor, and I was preparing the two arseholes with generous dabs of Vaseline. Then I handed the pot to Morelli, saying. "I don't know if you've ever tried getting right into her, and frigging her on the button till she creams and pulls you off?" Both men gave a bellow of delighted laughter: and Romano clapped me on the back, with a shout of. "That's a helluva good idea, Sister! Let's have that fucking vaseline, Joe!!"
As I had anticipated, Romano's girl made a real muscular production out of her orgasm. I could just see her. (had she been free, and being fucked normally on her back). with her head thrown back and eyes closed, going "Wheee!" almost soundlessly through gritted teeth, her legs clamped tightly round the man's waist and her fingers raking mindlessly across his back as she spent. All such freedom of action was denied to her in her present position. she was merely a dancing arse-hole on the end of Romano's prick: but even so the contractions of her rectum had the little hood gasping and shuddering in ecstasy as his load of hot spunk was sucked out of his willing prick, to thud home high into the bowels of the huddled twitching body. In contrast, Morelli was having to work a little to make Blondie come: his big spatulate finger was frigging her methodically on the clitoris, and every now and then he would ream her arsehole back and forth, bringing a jerk of pain from her as his crisp sandy bush rammed up against the four raw stripes across her crimson buttocks. But she creamed at last, and with a bellow of triumph he plunged himself to the hilt in her pulsing arsehole, shooting his load into her helpless body with fervent cries of "Jesus fucking Christ!," and "Holy shit!!," and the like.
I let the two men relax with cigarettes at the other end of the room, while I freed the girls' helmets from the floor and helped the two victims to their feet: then I clipped the ceiling-wires back onto their helmets. though I refrained from winding them up taut until the men were ready for their second session; I thought the poor girls had at least earned that much grace.
The cigarettes were stubbed out all too soon: and as Morelli and Romano walked over to the lovely helpless bodies, I wound in the wires till both girls were 'standing tall' again, and voicing their misery and apprehension with plaintive little humming noises through the nose-holes of the helmets. As agreed, the men changed round, Romano taking Blondie, and the smaller girl falling to Morelli. They sensed that this time their target must inevitably be the naked breasts jutting helplessly through the front cut-outs of the crimson costumes: and they were already teasing the coral nipples between their ringers when I returned from winding in the wires. I managed to persuade Morelli that a tit was more sensitive than an arse, and that if he hit too hard with the smacking-strap he would merely send the thing numb, so that the nettles and the little scourge would lose their full effect. He got the point, and happily found the perfect touch, so that Brownie was wriggling her shoulders in agony all through the thirty strokes, and her firm upstanding breasts seemed to grow one size larger as they slowly reddened all over under his remorseless strokes. Romano, for his part, was dealing very scientifically with Blondie. He fingered her nipples till they stood out hard and proud on the big globes of her breasts: then he delivered five strokes, very fast and hard, around the aureole, then five more round the main curvature of the breast: then he teased her nipples again, till they stood up ready for punishment again. He repeated the whole process once more, thus completing the thirty strokes I had called for in the strapping process.
The nettles followed: this time there were no uninformed doubts as to the efficacy of the slim green birches, and both pairs of naked breasts were very soon red-hot and swollen as the little red papules multiplied all over the tender surface of the tortured flesh. The unhappy victims had but little freedom of movement in their stretched position: but they both showed surprising agility in their shoulder-motions when the little scourges were brought into play, and almost from the first stroke of the painful knotted cords the martyred tits were dancing freely from side to side and up and down, as the tortured girls sought hopelessly to escape the cruel biting blows.
Suddenly Romano exclaimed in delight. The pain of the knots biting into her soft nipples had made Blondie pee herself: a little spurt of urine splashed onto the floor, and a thin trickle ran down one thigh, leaving a dark patch of wetness on the crimson cloth. Morelli guffawed with laughter: then, determined not to be outdone, he slashed upwards with his scourge between Brownie's parted legs, so that the sudden agony in her unprotected cunt loosened her bladder, and she too released a thin stream of urine to splash down onto the floor beneath.
I managed to persuade the men that two strokes of the cane would be sufficient. Romano laid one of his strokes most accurately across Blondie's two swollen nipples: under the sudden dreadful pain she gave a violent jerk that must have nearly strangled her: blood seeped from the two coral buds now swollen to the size of a medium strawberry. Much to Morelli's chagrin, his aim was not so accurate: but the two big weals he left across each martyred globe would serve to remind peer Brownie for many a day to come that she had had a serious session in the whipping-room. -
Then they fucked the two bodies standing open-legged in their bonds as though inviting their tormentors to rape them. I loosened the ceiling-wires a little, so that there should be some 'spring' in the two bodies, to make the fuck more interesting: and the two hoods certainly seemed to enjoy themselves, both of them humping lustfully upwards into the wide-spread cunts till they came, with a chorus of coarse grunts and groans. Then they withdrew, leaving their spunk dribbling out of the tired trembling quims in glutinous strings, and dressed themselves leisurely. Somewhat to my surprise, they thanked me as graciously as they knew how, and gave me two $50 bills 'for the broads', as they put it: then I accompanied them upstairs and saw them out, mentally congratulating myself on another little chore successfully completed for Don Marco.
When I went back downstairs, the Negroes were fetching the two drums from the store-room. Inside the whipping-room, Alberto had released Blondie and forced her to the floor: and as I arrived, he was just withdrawing from her after a quick rape. His prick was still semi-stiff, and it did not take him long to prepare himself for Brownie, who I must say looked very exciting lying on her back with her long slim legs held back over her head, so that her well-whipped arse was fully exposed below the open cunt. Alberto soon had his orgasm in her: then Sam and his mate put her into her drum: and finally the two girls were wheeled off to the elevator, and so upstairs and finally out of the house. and out of my life, I would have said. How wrong I was, Max!!
Chapter Twenty-Six
Now comes the true background to the story: and I swear to you that I had absolutely no idea of it, until it was too late. (Nor, I think, did Alberto: but that we shall never know: for Morelli and Romano had him killed the next day. ).
In actual fact, Don Marco was no friend at all of the two hoods. He had owed them a grudge for many a long year: and he had neither forgiven nor forgotten them. He had plotted long, and plotted well, when he had heard that they would be coming to Boston: he was determined to revenge himself in a manner worthy of a 'baron' of The Organization: and he knew he could do so with impunity, for it had long been accepted within The Organization's upper echelons that Don Marco was the injured party. (All this I pieced together during the months that I was hiding out in Mexico).
He started off by talking to them on the phone before the conference. It was childish to bear enmity for all these years, he said; none of them was getting any younger; he would be their official host in Boston, and this seemed an excellent opportunity to bury the hatchet. nothing would please him more; would they join hands with him and renew their friendship, letting bygones be bygones. ?
They believed him, Max! God help them for a pair of bloody fools, they believed him. And now I'll tell you who Blondie and Brownie really were. Francesca Morelli. that was Blondie: Morelli's twenty-one-year-old daughter, the apple of his eye. And Brownie was Rita Romano, who was only nineteen. Don Marco had arranged for each man to whip his own daughter's arse till it bled, and then to bugger her: and then. all unsuspecting. to hand her over to his companion to have her tits whipped and be fucked, right under his very eyes. Oh yes, it was a revenge worthy of a 'baron' all right!
Don Marco had really organized the thing quite beautifully. He must have spent money like water on bribes and buying information: for in the space of about four days he had found out that the two hoods would be bringing their families with them to Boston; had discovered which dressmakers the two girls used in Chicago. (which was the home town of his two enemies). and arranged for them to be broken into so that the girls' measurements could be taken from their dummies; had kept two seamstresses working overtime on the bizarre crimson costumes that would act as camouflage in the whipping-room; and had made arrangements for the two girls to be kidnapped early on the Monday afternoon and taken to one of his hideouts to be 'dressed'. He had men the two hoods when they arrived on the Sunday afternoon, and greeted them with honeyed words: as an earnest of his good intentions, he had offered them a 'special entertainment' for the Monday evening, telling them that the Madam of one of his houses. (that was myself). would provide them with a couple of nice arses they could whip. They had never practised flagellation, and accepted with alacrity, with the result that the two girls had been most exquisitely tortured, as I have described. (with a free fuck from Alberto thrown in for good measure).
Don Marco's plan called for the two drums containing the unconscious girls to be deposited on the doorstep of the guest-houses in which The Organization had lodged the two families for the conference: a ring at the bell would bring the newly-returned father to the door; he would open the strange package, see the now-familiar crimson costume displaying the well-whipped arse and breasts, and remove the helmet. to disclose his own daughter. He would know at once that Don Marco had double-crossed him, and that his own credulity had brought the most fearful torments onto his innocent daughter. and very largely at his own hands, too.
Only two things went wrong. both of which were to ruin me, and turn me for many months to come into a fugitive frightened for her very life. First of all, Tony Romano didn't go back to his house straight away: he was so excited by the events of the evening that he decided to spend an hour in a hotel bar: so when Don Marco's men rang the bell, it was Mrs. Romano who discovered her daughter's whip-marked body in the drum. Knowing nothing of the 'special entertainment' that her husband had enjoyed that evening, she believed that her daughter had fallen prey to some sex-maniac. and called the police. And as you know, Max, the outcome of that was the issue of a warrant against me for kidnapping and procuring and conspiring to commit assault and God knows what. all entirely unfair, because really I had nothing to do with the thing. But they knew I was connected with it somehow: for when Morelli and Romano sent their bodyguards in and had Alberto knocked off, that led the police to my place. and of course I wasn't there by then, which made the police suspicious; they started grilling Sam and the others. and it didn't take them long to find out that the girls had been tortured on our premises; and with nobody available to tell the real story, I suppose a warrant was inevitable.
But the whole thing would have stopped right at the start. even after Mrs. Romano had called the police. if only Don Marco had been there. He was far too powerful for middle-level operators like Romano and Morelli to tangle with; and they would never have dared to come to my place in search of revenge. But Don Marco was dead: he had a heart attack in the car that was bringing him over to my place. (I thought it was a bit odd that he wasn't in 'Algolagnia Alley' for a very special entertainment such as that). and died without recovering consciousness. Once they learnt of his death, the two hoods were emboldened to seek revenge: and who was a more likely candidate than the person who had greased their daughters' arse-holes for them, and showed them how to torture a naked tit with nettles? So they sent their gunmen in: and they only missed me by five minutes.
At this stage, I knew absolutely nothing of what was going on. dammit, Max, I still thought they'd been whipping a couple of Don Marco's hookers! The first I heard was at noon next day, when I had a frantic phone call from the accountant. He and I had always got on well together: he was a cripple, and physically unattractive; and I had taken pity on him, and arranged for him to get laid once a week; and now he was repaying me. He told me that Don Marco was dead. which was a shock, just by itself. (for you never know who's going to step into the dead man's shoes, in an outfit like The Organization): then he told me who the girls had been, and I went cold all over. He knew they were about to move in against us. and I believed him! So I didn't need much urging when he told me to get the hell out of there straight away, and meet him at the airport. He'd taken tickets down to Mexico City, he said, and he'd got the house takings for the past week, which would keep us going for a while, till we could see how things were turning out. Believe me, I was out of there in five minutes flat, with just my jewelry, some personal papers, and a few hundred dollars that I had by me in cash: and I've never been back to Boston since.
I don't go around scared any longer now: I don't believe anyone is actively looking for me any more. Morelli's been dead for several years; Romano's worked his way up since those days, and is a sort of 'under-baron' out on the West Coast. but I think he accepts that I wasn't actually responsible for what happened that night:. though I wouldn't care to cross his path. I had an official 'all clear' from The Organization about six months after Don Marco's death, but they told me they could do nothing for me as long as I was still on the police 'wanted list'. and there's the rub: I've tried for years to get the police to kill their warrant, but they won't do it. and kidnapping's a Federal offense, so the Boston warrant effectively bars me from making good in any State in America. Well, I've got used to it now, Max; and you're all very kind to me here in The Specialist Club: but you do see what I mean when I say that Don Marco ruined me, don't you? Fancy doing a thing like that to me, and then dying?. left me properly in the shit, didn't he? Ah well!. push that bottle over, will you?
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Double for Nothing!! Tricks for Free!!!
Be There.....